One Band
by a harmonic life
Summary: Oneshot. A high school band defies the rules and proves their worth to their high school.


I felt like writing a oneshot, so here it is. It's a bit dramatic, but I really like the way that it turned out! Please review!

* * *

The lined, open field outside of the high school was alive with movement. People, of all shapes and sizes, were gathered on this field. There were instrumentalists, playing random notes or stands pieces, resulting in one discordant sound. There were dancers, moving gracefully, playing with pom-poms, and preparing themselves. There were color guard members, spinning sabers, tossing flags, and warming up. All of these different people had one thing in common: a smile on their face. This was the marching band, and like their sounds before practice, they seemed discordant. Yet, together, they made up a single group. One band. They were one marching band with a dedication that seemed to rival that of other bands in their district. They were the St. Mark's High School Spartan Marching Band.

A whistle blew in the distance, calling them to the ready. All conversations were stopped. Every single person on that field snapped to the ready position no matter where they were on the field.

The whistle blew again this time, with a different pattern. The response was different as well. Feet snapped together, heads snapped up. The band yelled, "HUT!!!" piercing the silence.

The band director replaced the drum major on the podium and called the band to parade rest. The assistant band director was at his side, standing on the green grass of the field.

"Good afternoon, band. I'm sorry to tell you, but practice is canceled today." There were surprised glances passed around the band, wondering why on earth practice would ever be canceled.

"I think you have a right to know why. I just received a letter from the school board, and it reads the following:" He then read the contents of the letter.

_To the Band Director of St. Mark's,_

_I regret to inform you that after a school board hearing on 9 October, we have decided to remove all bands from the school's extracurricular offerings due to budget cuts. I apologize for any inconvenience that this may cause._

_Sincerely,_

_St. Mark's High School Board _

"I am sorry. Please clean out your band lockers and remove your personal items from the band room. You maykeep your uniforms and school instruments; they won't be needed anymore." With that, he walked to the parking lot, got into his car, and drove away. The assistant band director followed.

The band was left on the field in shock. Some were crying, others, simply just standing there wondering how this could have happened. A clarinetist named Kelly stepped forward and stood on the drum major podium. She talked to the band, trying to comfort them.

"Well, this is just about the worst news we could ever hear. We spent so many hours drilling ourselves to get this show right. And yet, the one person we trusted, our band director, abandoned us in our time of need. The school board took away something that meant the world to us, and we can't just walk away from it. We will always be the St. Mark's High School Marching Band. Never forget that."

As she spoke to this hardworking group, this second family of hers, a silent tear rolled down her cheek.

* * *

The next day, after school, the band room was empty, and the field was no longer alive. The smiles were gone. There were no discordant sounds. Nothing except silence was present; a heavy silence that sat in the air. There was no laughter, no happiness. There was no music.

* * *

It was halftime of the homecoming game at St. Mark's. The football team had the lead, looking confident in the new uniforms that the band's money had bought them. 

The school's ex band director was sitting in the stands with the principal, admiring the football team. After the band had lost their funding, he had come back as an English teacher, often ignoring the band students that were left on that field almost a year ago.

Off in the distance, a _tap, tap, tap _was heard. It was a tap that pierced the excited air and brought a silence with it, a confused silence as everyone looked to find the source of the interruption. A few moments passed, and then it sounded again.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

It continued like this, getting increasingly louder.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

The source of the taps finally came into view. A throng of students came over the hill that sat between the high school and the football field. They were all wearing matching uniforms and they were all holding instruments or equipment. They were marching to the tempo set by the drumline, every person in step perfectly. Most importantly, they were all wearing the same smirk on their faces. They were the St. Mark's Marching Band, and they had come to take back what was theirs. It was their time to shine.

A cadence was started by the drumline as the band stepped out onto the track. They reached the end zone of the field and a whistle command to halt was heard. The band obeyed with precision. "1, 2!" they shouted, in unison.

Then, the drum major stepped out of the group of band members. It was Kelly, the clarinetist who had comforted the band when the unthinkable happened. She blew her whistle, and the band started moving into the opening formation of their show, unannounced.

Once they were in their formation, a whistle was sounded again; it was the signal to go to the ready. The band did just that, still wearing those proud smirks on their faces. It brought a whole new meaning to the term, "Eyes With Pride." They were called to attention, and then Kelly finally signaled horns up.

Then, just like that, the show started. The St. Mark's band put everything they had into that show. It was flawless. It represented all of the hard work, sadness, and success that they had shared as a band. It surprised everyone on the stands. The ex band director sat there, stunned.

The final notes of the closer resounded in the air. The band froze in their final formation, but after a couple moments, they started moving again. The seniors marched forward to the front of the field, while the rest of the band moved into a formation which soon became clear. It spelled SMH: St. Mark's High.

Then, the seniors picked up a large cloth that was sitting behind the drum major podium and stretched it out for everyone to see. It read:

St. Mark's Marching Band: Our Music Will Never Die.

* * *

That night, the ex band director stepped into his house, still surprised from the day's events. He threw his things onto a chair. It took him a second to notice, but a folded sheet of paper had fallen from his program book. He opened it. 

_To the Band Director of St. Mark's:_

_I regret to inform you that we made it. We did the impossible. We stayed together as one band, though the school board tried to take it from us. You tried to take it from us._

_And yet, we did it. We defied the school board. We came to the school and worked, late at night, all through the summer. Kelly led us, and we remained as we always were: one band. _

_You, however, took the easy way out. You sucked up to the principal and got another job. I guess you were too good for us, or maybe we were just to good for you. _

_So, thanks. Thanks for giving us the push that we needed to get through this and remain as we always were: the most dedicated band around. _

_Sincerely,_

_St. Mark's High School Spartan Marching Band _


End file.
